The Waiting Game
by money makes me smile
Summary: Companion piece to "Stone Walls". It's been almost two days since you've arrived in the hospital. Two days of barely moving, hardly sleeping, and little eating. You can't bring yourself to do any of it. If you do, it means you might miss the moment when the woman lying in the bed in front of you wakes up. ... So you sit. You wait. You hope.


So, I wasn't originally going to continue Stone Walls, but I had a few requests asking me to do so. I'll meet y'all half way, and give you a companion piece (so you don't _have_ to read Stone Walls to understand this story, but I make references to things from that story – mainly Grace Finn being Gail's rookie). Enjoy and leave a review if you wish :)

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><p>It's been almost two days since you've arrived in the hospital. Two days of barely moving, hardly sleeping, and little eating. You can't bring yourself to do any of it. If you do, it means you might miss the moment when the woman lying in the bed in front of you wakes up. You have to be here when she wakes up, you don't have a choice in the matter. You feel like there is nothing in the world that could make you move from your spot beside her bed. There isn't much for you to do, there isn't much you <em>can<em> do.

So you sit. You wait. You hope.

You're practically forced out of the hospital by Traci with promises of keeping an eye on her while you go home, at least to shower and eat. You can't help but nod and sulk away, too exhausted and frozen to argue. You know if anything happens while you're gone that Traci will call you the instant it happens. So you robotically remove yourself from the chair you've called perched yourself on and follow your brother out of the hospital. Steve drives you home, but when you open the door and walk inside it doesn't feel like home. Not without her there. It feels empty.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"How long will it feel like this?"

"Like what?"

"Empty."

Those words hang in the air between you two, and your brother can't do anything but pull you in for a hug that seems long overdue. You let go of his embrace and wander up the stairs, faint sounds of Steve opening the fridge and rummaging through cupboards. He's probably making you food while you go shower, which your stomach doesn't protest as it quietly growls. Once you're in the bathroom, turning on the shower and slowly stripping away the clothes you've been in for at least forty hours, you let yourself cry again. Your salty tears mix together with the fresh water cascading down your body, only to be washed down the drain into the abyss.

You blame yourself, even though you know it's not your fault. If you hadn't left her side at the park, you could have taken the bullet instead. Could have followed protocol and preserved the safety of civilians. She could still be examining the body from the park and the shooter could have been found, because Holly is just that good of a forensic pathologist. They could have found the shooter if you hadn't left. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully. Rushing over to your girlfriend's side after she was shot wasn't something you ever wanted to experience, yet life seems to want to throw you the hardest curveballs.

After a few minutes of beating yourself up, you reach for Holly's shampoo and breathe it in. You miss waking up to the faint scent of mango in the morning. You clean yourself up and shut off the shower, wrapping yourself up in a towel before walking into your shared bedroom to find some new clothes. Everything in this room just screams Holly; the perfectly made bed, neatly folded clothes from the last load of laundry, and the bookshelf just ridden with journals and articles and books that have words you will probably never comprehend. You throw on a pair of jeans and a sweater quickly, deciding you can't be here anymore. You have to get back to the hospital. To her.

You run down the stairs so fast that you almost fall, the voice of your brother calling out to make sure you're okay. You forgot he was here. You ask him to take you back to the hospital, but he refuses until you at least agree to eat whatever food he made in the car. He hands you a container and a fork before grabbing his keys and leading you out the door. You quietly thank him for everything he's done and the two of you set off for the hospital once again.

When you arrive back in her hospital room, your new rookie is sitting there with Traci, keeping an eye on Holly just as she promised. Over the past few weeks, you've become quite good friends with your rookie, thanking Oliver for making you her training officer. The rookie, Grace, looks up as you enter and gives you a comforting smile. She hands you a cup of coffee, made just the way you like it, and lets you take her spot in the chair beside Holly's bed.

"She hasn't woken up yet, but the doctor came in about ten minutes ago and said she's expected to make a full recovery since her vitals have improved exceptionally." You feel Grace's voice penetrate your ears but don't fully register it. _She's going to be okay. _

"The hardest part is over. She's going to be fine. All that's left to do is wait for her to wake up." Traci's gaze never lifts from you as she speaks and walks around the bed to be near Steve.

You hear footsteps enter the room and turn to see who it is. A smile grazes upon your face as your eyes rest on Oliver. You're so thankful he is here now, here to watch over you as you watch over Holly. He will probably never realize what his presence here means to you.

So once again, you sit. Once again, you wait.

You wait with the four people who are your pillars of support. These four people who are your rock, your crutch, your comforter. They will wait with you for however long it takes. You never want to leave her side, and you know that they won't leave yours in this time of need. Grace comes up behind you and places a comforting hand on your shoulder, her fingers slightly brushing against your now shoulder-length blonde hair.

You reach for Holly's hand closest to yours and hold it tight, hoping that something will happen. You nearly jump when you feel a faint movement, her thumb moving slightly in your hold. It stops just as quickly as it started, but the feeling of tears already hits your eyes. You grasp her soft hand even more, waiting for something else to happen.

You have nothing better to do. You have nowhere else to be. You have nothing but time on your hands.

So you play the waiting game.


End file.
